Via Podiensis, Part V

dw: "I want some coffee."
me: "The next place is only a mile or so away."
dw: "It's more than two."
me: "It was less than two at the last sign."
dw: "It was 2.4K -- that's 14 miles in real terms."
me: "Well, both numbers do have a four in them."
dw: "I'm tired and my math skills are slipping."
    
Later we took to carrying single serving packets of instant coffee -- not ideal but far better than no coffee at all. Unlike Spain, in France we would often go an entire day without finding a place for a coffee break. Doubtless it was a great deprivation.

After Pasturat, we took another abandoned RR shortcut. And it proved to be a shortcut, even though it started badly and then got worse. The shortcut started through a curved tunnel, that was long enough that we couldn't see the end, and not seeing a light at the end of the tunnel might have been a hint. After the tunnel, the track continued between ever deepening stone faced walls and ever more dense brush until it became impassable. Fortunately, an iron ladder was fixed to the wall near where we were stopped so we didn't have to backtrack. We topped out on a road that passed a farmhouse with large interesting sculptures (camel, spider) made of steel rod. The fat surly artist standing in the yard grudgingly admitted they were his work, told us the trail was just down the road, and definitely indicated he was out of friendly for the day.
     After several miles on a road, we again tried the RR track, and for two miles it went well. Then the brush again thickened and increasingly, trees had fallen across the track (the result of a widespread, violent storm two weeks previous) We had to remove our packs and pass them to each other to get through in places, and a couple of times we needed to help each other to get through -- it was a real mess but we didn't want to turn back, because ---- two miles. Eventually we made the goal, which was another RR bridge over the river Lot and which represented another shortcut of three miles. Time-wise, and effort-wise we might not have gained anything, but it was an interesting day.

In Cahors dw hadn't been able to find us a place to stay, so we went to the tourist office. The poor young woman in the office took nearly an hour trying to find us a gite. In the end we settled for one a half mile out of town and up a steep hill -- not what we wanted -- but it proved to be a fine choice: The owners (an older couple -- probably my age, alas) were just renting out an extra bedroom. When we got there, they asked us to be sure and not let their dog out of the yard, nor into the house. I asked what kind of dog is it, and the man answered: "A good dog." which, after all, is the best kind of dog. We had breakfast in the morning, the owners joined us and we had a very nice conversation, along with coffee and entirely homemade toast and jam. It was all so pleasant we left later than usual.

A couple of days later, in Latastide-Marnhac, we passed an elementary school:  It was recess time and for a few moments some of the kids were singing: "Alouette, Alouette, gentile Alouette. Alouette je te plumerai ---" So I wondered: does every elementary in the western world sing that? I certainly did and so did dw.

Our gite that evening, at Trigodina, featured a truffle pig. A master of disguise, the pig looked like a normal gray pot-bellied pig, but in fact it was an actual truffle pig. The owner had a picture of a softball sized truffle the pig had found. I guess the pig won't be eaten any time soon, or at least not all at once. The gite also had a golden retriever who didn't seem to be interested in truffles but who was very good at mooching treats and ear scratches.

The trail continued to be very difficult in places. One steep section, leading to Lazerte, even had a heavy (one inch) rope tied to trees and extending for a hundred yards to be used as a hand rail -- wet and muddy the section would have been nearly impassable. The descent two hundred yards farther on, was equally steep.

Lazerte is another "Most Beautiful" hill-top village. We had a pint of amber ale (English pub, English owner, and English ale -- except served cold) I paid for the beer when I ordered it and then carried it outside where we were sitting. Later, dw went to the loo and after, offered to pay. The bartender said I'd already paid, but (with a smile) "I'd collect again, but you two talked with each other. Most couples don't." -- chuckles all around. And Lazerte has a wonderful art feature: the corner of the central square is curled up like the corner of a rug.
    Across from the pub we saw an open bookstore with some English language books. We each bought a book for 1E apiece. The owner of the store was an old, wrinkled woman -- still attractive in a fin de siecle way and we talked with her for a bit. She had several large paintings on the wall, and she explained they were about East and West Berlin, and the separation between the two. It sounded like she was the lover of the artist (this was before the wall came down) and came away from the affair with the paintings. The woman and the story were very exotic and very French (Perhaps a pleasant Flaubert story). And she had the appropriate husky voice (too many Gauloise over the years?)

Some days later, at Moissac, we took a rest day. Our gite was another -- end the day with a steep uphill walk -- but we had been warned: when dw made the reservation, the owner said there was a bar just before the climb started and perhaps stopping for a break and a beer would be a good idea. (we didn't, but it was a fair suggestion) Rather than staying in the dorm section, we opted for the "honeymoon suite" which was a large tepee like tent a bit away from the building. It was fine, except we would have liked electricity and a light. (we were entertained by a lizard wandering around on the outside top of the tent). Since we planned to stay two nights, the tent was ideal. We could leave our stuff while we explored the town, or could spend the day laying around. In the dorm, we would have had to vacate for much of the day (a common gite rule)
   We visited the Moissac cloister -- the oldest Christian cloister in the world (1100). The capitals on the pillars are the selling point. There are a couple hundred columns and each capital is different: some saints, some bible stories, some mythology, and some "rampant foliage" (dw and I agreed that we need more rampant foliage in our lives). About a hundred years ago, the French national railroad ran a RR track through a corner of the cloister and cut an adjacent chapel in half. They still refuse to fix the problem, proving that Philistines are everywhere.  While we were in the cloister, we heard a bunch of yelling, horn honking and firecrackers. A bit later we heard it again; we thought: Protest? Riot? But when we exited we saw it was a wedding. Saturday was a big wedding day, and during the day and evening we saw or heard eight weddings -- first they would have the official marriage at city hall, then later a church ceremony if desired. It seems to be a very civilized system.  (After the cloister we also visited the city museum. It was mostly about some local dude who did some stuff and collected assorted relics and other debris. It was 45 minutes out of our lives we will never get back)
    The owner of our gite recommended a restaurant, La Formage, where we ate lunch (much less expensive than dinner).  It had a set menu with two choices for each of three courses with a final cheese plate. We separated our choices so each got a taste of every dish: the meal was superb.

   Most of our "rest" day we spent sight-seeing. First we walked to the canal bridge. -- Not a bridge over a canal, but a bridge over a river, and that bridge carries a canal. The bridge is a canal with sidewalks. Well worth the three mile round trip. --- (The river is easily big enough for boat and barge traffic)
    Otherwise, we visited the church (and discretely watched a bit of a wedding -- including a sobbing guest -- spurned lover of the groom?), did some shopping without buying anything except for some food for tomorrow's lunch, looked at buildings and houses, and sat and people watched. A nice day. (with light rain)

We left Sunday, and most of Sunday's walk was along the canal --- very pretty, straight, lined with large plane trees, level, and after three hours --- sort of boring.  (we can be hard to please)

BOOK OF THE DAY:  Latin For All Occasions (Henry Beard) "Stercus pro cerebro habes." -- You have shit for brains.   "Podex perfectus es." -- You are a total asshole.   "Futue te ipsum et caballum in que vectus est." -- Screw you and the horse you rode in on.  

JOKE OF THE DAY:  If a bee is bothering you, don't swat it or run away. Just stand still and stare at it, because seeing is believing.
 
     Why didn't the Frenchman have two eggs for breakfast? -- Because one egg is un oeuf. 

FACTOID OF THE DAY:  Marcel Marceau once released a LP that was 19 minutes of silence, followed by 1 minute of applause --- on both sides. 

And so it goes. DJA

Via Podiensis, Part IV

To backtrack a couple of days from Part III: Before Conques, we came to Estaing -- another beautiful medieval village but different because it is the seat of the supposed ancestors of Valery Giscard d'Estaing (known in France as VGE) an unpopular President of France from 1974 until 1981. As I read about him, I concluded that he wasn't too bad as President but was unpopular because he was (is?) so spectacularly ego-centric -- a narcissist nonpareil. For example: he isn't actually related to the d'Estaings of Estaing the village, but he added the "d" to his name (signifying nobility) and claimed he is a descendent.  He wrote a book implying that he had an affair with Diana, Princess of Wales (later he said -- to paraphrase -- "Oh pshaw! I didn't mean that!) And he seems (from my reading) to have a strong "I'm way better than you" attitude. But in his favor, VGE did establish a fund to preserve and restore the chateau (now a convent) -- (It wasn't open for tours when we were there)
   Returning to the real d'Estaings: They also had a notable ego.
   (Perhaps it goes with the name: You have to admit, Valery Giscard d'Estaing rolls off the tongue like a 21 gun salute decorated with roses) --
   They built their splendid 15th century chateau with a tower significantly taller than the steeple of the nearby church. Actually you barely notice the poky church steeple. The tower seems to suggest the d'Estaings were superior to just about everyone else.  Building taller than the church steeple just wasn't done at the time. However, for pilgrims, d'Estaing also built a bridge over the river -- World Heritage, and still in use.
  
   And our very own Lafayette (of the Revolutionary War) was a cousin or something of the d'Estaings.  So the village has history as well as aesthetics going for it. (we also each had an excellent restaurant crepe' for dinner -- a welcome break from our usual dinners -- "cook whatever is cheap and easy")

Some time after Conques, we took the Cele variation of the GR65.
   (GR65 -- Grande Randonnee 65 -- the path has several variations -- some with different trail numbers -- that end in the same place. The Cele variation was the only one we walked)
   We don't know what the regular path was like but we really liked the Cele River valley. It was different but as attractive as the Aubrac region. The valley is a half mile, to a mile and a half wide, bounded by limestone cliffs, mostly in two bands and up to 500+ feet high. The trail frequently left the valley floor and climbed to the top of the cliff bands. We mostly stayed on the road at the bottom and thoroughly enjoyed the views. There were few villages along the way, but a regular scattering of chateaus and farmhouses, most with a tower. The road and trail through the valley had very little traffic, either cars or pilgrims -- it was very nice. 

As we were leaving the village Corn, we passed a woman walking three small dogs. dw thought she heard the woman address the dogs in English, but didn't pay much attention. We stopped at a junction, the woman caught up with us, and she was indeed speaking English. She was American (one of the very few we met on the walk), had lived in Eugene, Oregon for several years and knew the NW very well. She said she had moved to France for reasons that didn't work out, liked it there and decided to stay as rural France is less stressful than the USA. She had many funny stories about living in the area: one night she accidentally left her bathroom light on, and the next day several of her neighbors talked with her about it -- was something wrong? and she really shouldn't do that. Another time she forgot to close all of the window shutters -- similar reaction from the neighbors. She talked of anger and resentments between families lasting from WWI and WWII. She was very funny about it all, and her mind set was such that she found it all both amusing and annoying.  We talked for over an hour.
   dw and I decided (for no reason at all) that she had moved to France to be with a lover, he proved to be a cad, but she stayed and made her living writing romance novels and travel essays.

At another point, as we neared a cluster of cars parked along the road, three scuba divers, fully togged out with hooded dry suits, knives, timers, lights, cameras, etc. --- everything a diver could use or want --- walked toward us. dw and I both were "What the hell?" The Cele river is lovely -- tree lined, beautiful setting, but it's a small sedate river. We decided they must be doing some sort of fish, or other fauna/flora survey --- carefully searching the river bottom for exotic bugs. Then we saw a sign that described an extensive underwater cave system, extending from that point to several kilometers downstream. Conversation wasn't possible (since we speak little to no French) but it probably wasn't a show just for our benefit.

Toward the end of the valley, we took an upper trail that followed a narrow road between two cliff bands. Above and below the road, houses --- many occupied and some new --- were built onto the cliff face, with the cliff as a fourth wall. Like the Anasazi only 400 years newer.
   After a mile the trail left the road and wandered through a scrub oak/brush wooded area. We met a couple of men who were hunting pigs (30-30, or 30-06 rifles) and we both wished we had day-glo yellow vests and bells a-jingling. A half mile further on a medium sized dog met us -- he was wearing a radio collar with antenna. We guessed his job was to find pigs, and drive them towards the hunters. The radio was probably so he could be found if he got lost.
   From that point, we talked more and more loudly, whistled and sang, until we got past the thickets and into a clearer area. Our goal with this minor detour from the Cele valley was Cabrerets (another medieval village) and particularly Pech Merle -- a cave with pre-historic drawings.
   After we got settled into our gite, we walked the additional 1K uphill to Pech Merle. It's a nice, fair sized cave with all the usual cave stuff: mites and tites, fans, cave pearls (exceptionally nice) curtains, straws, etc. --- but the real attractions are the drawings. 24-25,000 years old. Hands outlined, bison, horses, aurocks, goats and deer. Guys skewered with spears and stylized women. An etched head of a deer and claw scratch marks from a giant cave bear. And in a patch of now hardened mud, the foot prints of two young (8 - 14? years old) children.  It all is wonderful and amazing and real. Unlike most of the similar caves, this one is the real thing. (Where you see only replicas, it isn't so much because of vandalism as because of damage caused by people breathing, shedding lint and dandruff, sneezing, and so on) Seeing Pech Merle is really special. The number of visitors is limited and only guided groups of 30 are allowed in, one at a time. It's an awesome experience.

   The next day, following local advice we used an abandoned RR bridge to cross the river Lot at the end of the Cele valley. This saved us three miles on our way to Bouzies, where we took another small detour and walked six miles (round trip) to Lapopie. Part of the trail was along an old barge towing path cut into a cliff face. One section of the path wall was carved and polished into a flowing, wave-like bas-relief. It was nice and not overly intrusive. 
   Lapopie is another "most beautiful" village and again the rating is well-merited. We didn't think it was better than Conques, for example, but its setting, perched on a cliff-top is indeed remarkable. Andre Breton loved the town, owned a house and lived there the last 15 years of his life. Several other Dadaists lived and worked there while Breton was there. 
   We had meant to spend the night in Lapopie, but we arrived so early we canceled our reservation and moved on. Our gite was actually a mile out of town and at the bottom of the cliff so we wouldn't have been tempted to return and further explore the town. We ended the day at Pasturat -- it was a very long day. 

BOOKS: PARASITE REX (Carl Zimmer): Everything you don't want to know about parasites, human, animal, plant, bug, and the fishes in the sea. You don't want to know it, because it'll really creep you out. It's very well written, very interesting, and very surprising that any of us are still alive.

MY LIFE AS AN EXPLORER (Sven Anders Hedin) A young Swede who explored, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries,  much of the present day "stans" in Asia as well as parts of Russia, China, Tibet and Mongolia. The guy got around and had some amazing adventures. It's best to ignore his later infatuation with Hitler.

FACTOID OF THE DAY: When the British occupied Philadelphia during the Revolutionary War, Captain John Andre' stole a portrait of Benjamin Franklin. It wasn't returned until 1906. On the other hand, it was returned. Dare I mention the Elgin Marbles -- properly, the Parthenon Marbles. (David Cameron (commenting on returning looted material): "if you say yes to one, you suddenly find the British Museum would be empty.)

JOKE OF THE DAY: How do you keep Canadian bacon from curling in the pan? Take away its broom.                  

And so it goes. DJA

Vis Podiensis, Part III

While walking I carried a small spiral notebook in my shirt pocket. I would use it to make short comments (sometimes just a word or two) of any real or imagined notable event and then in the evening use my annoying ASUS notebook to type a full account of each day. One evening I asked dw if she remembered anything about the walk after Aubrec.

   "No," she said. "Should I?"
   "What? Am I here by myself?" I asked.
   "I live in the moment; it's how I savor life."

And then she informed me that her brain wasn't working properly because she had a sun rash on her calves.
    I know all about the knee bone connecting to the thigh bone and etc. but that still seemed to be a pretty thin excuse.

After an apparently uneventful walk we arrived at St. Comes d'olt, which is not a different way of saying St. Comes the dolt ---

The spiral steeple St Comes d'olt

Leaving St Comes

Olt is the old name of the river Lot. St. Comes is another beautiful medieval town -- this whole region is a well deserved UNESCO World Heritage area. (The trail is still frequently terrible -- eroded and rocky -- but the scenery is stunning).
   We stayed in a gite that is part of an Ursuline convent (still active) and the room was one of the best of the walk: modern, very comfortable and with a private bath. (The bathroom had a tiled water resistant floor with a drain in one corner. The shower was just a spray hose attached to the wall in that corner. You were expected to be bright enough not to spray the 220 volt outlet, the light switch or the toilet paper) St. Comes and the room was so nice we decided to stay another day -- alas, no room at the inn so we got a late (9A.M.) start, walking through the heat of the day which we usually tried to avoid. 

A few more days and we came to Conques, another Most Beautiful village and more than most, it really is. It marks the half-way point of the trail, and many French either quit walking at that point, or start on the second half (taking two or more years to do the trail), and many just walk between Le Puy and Conques as that's the nicest part of the whole trail.  It would be easy to spend days photographing the village. It's justifiably a major regional tourist attraction -- a lot of people, but still tolerable.
   Our gite was part of a still active monastery adjacent to the church. Again modernized and very comfortable, except for the giant spider that could have leapt on my face while I was sleeping. Our room overlooked the church and a row of reusable stone coffins. On our second night (we stayed two days) we opened our windows and as we lay in bed we were treated to a just loud enough organ concert from the church. And to our surprise we met Robert again. He had been a couple of days ahead of us, but was delayed with food poisoning (something we both escaped) and then planned to spend an extra day in Conques.

The tiles were about 10 inches square

After Conques, the trail significantly improved, although it continued (and kept it up for the whole 500 miles) to climb up and down every available hill. At one point near Livinhac the trail veered off the road it was following, climbed a steep rocky bluff, and continued to follow the road, only 100 feet higher. We just kept following the road and were pleased to see that several people behind us followed our lead. On the second half of the walk we were more willing to follow a map and avoid some of the more irritating parts of the trail.
One of the windows, Chapel St. Roch

Our gite in Livenhoc -- top floor, bathroom in a different building.

We started playing a car game in Spain that we resumed in France. When on a road, the one walking in front will call "Car" when they see a car coming, and the one behind will reply "Check". It's a reasonable warning system as often the rear guard isn't paying attention -- looking around, searching for a tasty ripe berry, or plum or apple. And the leader does have to pay more attention: looking for trail markers, piles of poop, holes in the roadside, etc. After a time, the game was expanded to calling out "Truck", "Giant Truck", "Tractor" and so on. And if the vehicle was approaching from the rear, the proper response was "Catch". At one point dw said she considered calling out "Car" as soon as she heard one, but she was afraid I would forget about it before it actually came close. I pointed out that I'm not THAT deaf, and she said: "Yes you are!". I would have responded with a clever mot, but I wasn't sure what she said.

TODAY'S BOOK: Extinction -- Douglas H. Erwin. Erwin writes about the great Permian extinction of 250 million years ago (dw read this and fell asleep -- "That book sounds better than Benadryl" she said), when about 90% of life on earth became extinct  in less than a 100,000 years. He writes about what became extinct, and what survived (often, just barely) and what caused it all, with several possibilities. He names many, many different groups (blastoids, crinoids, fusulinid foraminifera, etc) and eras (Changhsingian Stage of the Late Permian, Phanerozoic period) all of which makes reading a slog in places. It's interesting enough that I'll finish it, but it is a book that's easy to put down. 

JOKE OF THE DAY: It's a few days late: Originally,Hellmanns mayonnaise was made only in England, but was a great favorite -- wildly popular -- in Mexico. And, as is little known, the Titanic, after New York, was scheduled to stop in Veracruz to deliver to Mexico the 80,000 jars of Hellmanns Mayonnaise it was carrying as cargo. Of course, the Titanic sank in the North Atlantic and so to this day Mexico commemorates (not celebrates) Sinko De Mayo. 

What do you call a hen staring at lettuce? Chicken Caesar Salad.

FACTOID OF THE DAY: Warsaw Poland has a mermaid showing her boobs on its Coat of Arms.

And so it goes. DJA

Via Podiensis, Part II: Who'll Stop The Rain?

http://jango.com/music/creedence+clearwater+revival+wholl+stop+the+rainWe left Le Sauvage before breakfast. We would always start early, with coffee if possible, but delay breakfast until we had walked an hour or two: our normal schedule -- sharpens the appetite and gets the day off to a good start -- but that day it didn't work so well. The morning started cool and with a light drizzle, barely enough to warrant the ponchos, but the drizzle quickly turned into rain, then heavy rain, then another deluge -- with no stops in sight for coffee, or breakfast, or refuge from the storm.
    After we had walked about three hours dw said: "I need to get out of this for awhile. I don't care where -- a barn or shed or anything, but I need to sit where it's dry."

(early start *** coffee and hot chocolate -- in a farmers barn --- side line for the wife -- very welcome and very good)

   But things weren't looking good for any shelter. We were approaching a small cluster of houses but there didn't seem to be any sort of bar or open barn or picnic shelter or anything similar. I went ahead looking for something, turned a corner of a building and saw what seemed to be a gite. I tried the door, it didn't budge. I tried it again, the second time putting muscle into it, and Lo! it was open, the door was just very stiff. I made sure the door was unlocked and went back to the path to reel in dw -- there was no one in the building, but it was a donativo (pay what you can) and the kitchen was modern, clean, with packages of cookies and a bowl of candy bars. A clean toilet. Table and chairs. We stayed for forty-five minutes -- When we left the rain had started to ease up (by late afternoon it had largely cleared) and we were much refreshed. We even could have made coffee, and we should have as we didn't find any until the end of the day. It was a very welcome respite, and marked the last of really terrible weather until at the end when we approached Finisterra.

After Le Sauvage, the route gained the top of the Aubrac plateau, but that didn't mean the end of hills as the trail was cutting across drainages, large and small. The first 200 miles of the route is a series of hills -- up a hill longer and steeper than you want,  enjoy the view, down a hill longer and steeper than you want, cross a small stream, up a hill longer and steeper than you want --- repeat again and again. From what we read before we started we knew there would be hills, but the trail was more continuously hilly than we had expected.

But there were sections that were fairly level: Most of the day approaching the village of Aubrac is through an even, open area, with stone fences, meadows, groves and small clusters of stone farm buildings as picturesque as you could want. A mile or more of the trail passed through an open pasture with cows (the adults were blasé about us pelerines, the calves would panic when they thought they were being cut off from the herd). The trail regained a road and passed two fenced pastures with cows and a bull each. The bulls wandered over and stood nose to nose on each side of the dividing fence.

   Bruno: "Gaston, my man, I gotta tell ya, I got some hot, hot, hot action last night!"

Gaston: "Oh, come off it. You know and I know it's not the season. You're full of bullshit. --- Hey! Did you hear that? I said you're full of bullshit, and you ARE full of bullshit. Heh, heh, heh.

   Bruno: "You're such a dweeb, I'm outta here."

   Gaston: "(Jerk)"

Or something like that                                                (Bruno, making more bullshit)

Many of the trees in this area are ash trees. A sign explained that the ash trees were heavily planted in the past, and that the trees represent, and supposedly encourage, diligence and thrift from wives and women generally. I suggested that when we get home we should plant a couple of ashes in our yard.

   dw: "Why, what do they look like?"

   I said: "I don't know what they look like, I wouldn't know an ash tree from my ash or a hole in the ground. It just seems like a good idea." And with wisdom I didn't go further with explaining why an ash tree or two was such a good idea.

Aubrac (the village) is in the center of a World Heritage region with many unique bits of fauna and flora, and is a popular tourist town for the local area. It is very nice (small, medieval) with two excellent restaurants, and a snack type restaurant which has a view terrace overlooking a botanical garden, where we sat, had a beer,
watched cows in the distance and goats up close, and  enjoyed a quiet afternoon. Our gite for the evening was a renovated old building, with unfinished wood floors (wide boards, quaintly worn) white walls, and just chock-full of old photographs of the area and valueless (but interesting) antiques. Piled on a table in the center of the large dining/lounge area was a stack of four-inch thick books --- photographs of "Cows of  Aubrac" (well done, but why?) --- only 40E (?!) each. 

      Leaning against one corner was an inexplicable sled, about

4X6 feet, 3 inch thick heavy chestnut turned up at one end. Two inch steel wheels on each corner, and the bottom was studded every inch with sharp flakes of stone (chert, or flakes of agate). Torture device? Who knows -- it was very weird. And our room was large with two beds, a claw-foot tub screened off, a sink, wardrobe, toilet down the hall -- the price was manageable if more than we liked, but in Monterey California, for example, the room would have gone for $200+ a night. It was very atmospheric, rustic chic, quiet and comfortable.

 Oddly, Aubrac wasn't one of the "Most Beautiful Villages in France", but we enjoyed it, and the region certainly could have gotten some votes for "Most Beautiful".

 JOKES OF THE DAY: Rene Descartes walked into a bar and stood, looking around. The bartender asked: "Do you want a drink?" Descartes said "I think not." and disappeared. (Bada-Bing)

What's the difference between unlawful and illegal? --- One is against the law, the other is a sick bird. (Bada-Bang)

I read they found methane on Mars. I think it came from Uranus. (Bada-Boom)

WORD OF THE DAY: Aligot -- a potato/cheese dish from the Aubrac region. AKA -- aliglop -- AKA -- heart attack on a plate. It's actually very good.

POINTLESS HISTORICAL TRIVIA: Prokofiev and Stalin died on the same day. (March 5, 1953)

And so it goes. DJA

Via Podiensis: Le Puy en Velay to St Jean Pied de Port, Part 1

French trains, at least those running between the Spanish border and Le Puy en Velay, precede each announcement with a chime "bing, bong, bing." The notes and rhythm are exactly the same as the song:
   "Love and marriage, love and marriage. Go together like a horse and carriage,"
   Except the chime cuts off at three notes, so what you hear is "Love and mar ---"
I pointed out that small factoid to dw and she started going on about "Earworms" and "I'll never unhear that now".
     Later she attempted revenge -- with only modest success (perhaps because I'm more than half deaf), but I did spend an hour one day trying to remember all the words to: "A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, -- In the jungle, the mighty jungle," I sang a bit of it and she sang a bit of it and we both quickly agreed to a truce regarding earworms.

French villages take turns being declared "The Most Beautiful Village in France" and Le Puy, the start of our walk, was the first "Most Beautiful" we entered. The declaration was merited, as it was in each succeeding Most Beautiful town. As we walked we had some gripes about the trail (which I'll get into later) but from the start the scenery and the villages were beautiful indeed.

   In addition to the usual array of medieval buildings, Le Puy is noted for le puy lentils and lace making. The lentils are smaller, rounder and tastier than ordinary lentils, and they are featured in each pilgrim meal and every restaurant for miles around. The hand lace making is amazingly complex, involving the manipulation of an array of spindles.  Many shops had a lace maker (usually an older woman, but for one shop, a young man) sitting in front making lace: a very effective form of advertisement.

On the first day we were anxious to start walking, but we had read that the pilgrims' mass was short and featured a special send-off for pilgrims so we went to the service. There were six men blundering around the altar -- it was as if they had never done a service before. They were woefully under-rehearsed. They didn't actually bump into each other but it was a close thing, and they kept missing their cues and sitting in the wrong places and generally putting on a bit of a clown show. The main guy really needed a beadle with a knobbed stick to direct the extras. In any case, the mass went on far too long, and then the special afterwards ceremony was also cocked up with missed cues and inept reading, so we edged to the back of the crowd, grabbed our packs and left --- missing out on a small St. Jacque medallion. It would have been  a nice memento.

The Le Puy cathedral is on a hill top and has a long grand staircase entrance that actually enters the church in the middle of the nave -- it is most unusual. The staircase bottoms out at the head of a street, and both the staircase and street are lined with blue and white banners, we felt specially notable and celebrated as we exited the church and started the trek.

(A few hours after we started, we were passed by the five extras from the mass. They were five young priests from Canada who weren't a regular part of the show. A pleasant group actually -- they were walking two weeks worth of the trail. The one we talked with most was listening to a recording of medieval philosophy as he walked. dw and I agreed that Boethius and Anselm are a bit heavy for a walk through pastoral France, but we aren't priests so our tastes are doubtless different.)

The first two days of walking were pleasant: sunny and warm: a romantic walk through rural France, meadow and hill and forest except for the trail itself which too frequently was poorly built, poorly located and not maintained at all. The footing was often bad and remained so for the first two weeks. But the scenery was great with hills and meadows, more forest than expected, classic French farm houses often with towers, and vignettes of rural life. Once, as we approached a small farm cluster, we saw a van which we took for the sort of coffee/snack truck that was common in Spain --- not so: It was a small grocery store stocked with real food rather than snacks and it would drive around the area stopping at farm houses. We were going to get a candy bar or something, but three people ahead of us were grocery shopping --- picking out produce and meat, bread and potatoes --- so we didn't wait. As we left we were overtaken by a woman (overalls and rubber boots, armed with a long stick) driving a herd of cattle to a different pasture. ("Allez! Allez!") She had a dog with her, but the dog seemed to just enjoy the walk. He wasn't actually working.

That afternoon the skies opened and the final hours of the walk was through a deluge -- strong wind and drenching rain. A bit through a forest was worrisome as we kept watch for falling trees or branches. A final mile through an open field was worrisome as the rain kept up and lightening was blasting all around.  We were so relieved when we arrived at our gite for the night, the Domaine du Sauvage.
     The gite started life as a Knights Templar Hospitale on the original pilgrimage trail. It was nicely refurbished and very comfortable, and it kept as much of the original building and interior as was possible. It was also where we had the second best pilgrims meal of the entire walk.
     The meal itself was very good, but in particular we shared our end of the table with Robert (Row-bear' -- French) and Robert (English via Cologne). (After this day, all Roberts are "Raw'-burts" -- English) -- Robert (French) wasn't all that big, but he was something of a trencherman, and speaking French (of course) kept crying for: "More soup -- More bread -- More Wine! --More chunks of the larded beast! And may I have the marrow, I love marrow!") A splendid feast.
     For the rest of the journey, we didn't actually walk with Robert (except for the occasional half an hour or so), since we were generally walking more slowly, but through various circumstances we met every few days for the duration of our walk. Over lunch two weeks further down the trail, Robert mentioned that he met Robert (French) a week after the evening at Sauvage, and Robert (French) wasn't doing very well.
     Robert had started walking in Cologne, Germany so when we met he had already walked 500 miles, and when we took a train from St. Jean-Pied-de-Port to Santiago, he continued walking -- we were entirely satisfied with our efforts, but Wow, he covered about 1500 miles!        Next: Less daily detail, just the highlights. DJA

JOKE OF THE DAY: (Thanks to Durango Bob, Twitter) He died doing what he loved the most --- Surprising tigers.

WORDS OF THE DAY: SNARG: The residue from a bird/plane collision. And: AGGRAVATOR: An oiled lock of hair, especially one curled over the temple or forehead.

HISTORY (?) FOR THE DAY: Greek tragedian Aeschylus was killed when an eagle dropped a turtle on his head, after mistaking his head for a rock on which to crack open the turtle's shell.  

And so it goes. DJA